


touch me, i'm going to scream

by theoneinquisitor



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BDSM, Bdsm etiquette, Clarke Griffin & John Murphy Friendship, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, Light Bondage, Okay maybe there's some plot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-26 00:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20380543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoneinquisitor/pseuds/theoneinquisitor
Summary: He’s wearing that stupid smirk again. “Because you’re tired of boring sex and I’m tired of hearing you bitch about boring sex.”Or: Clarke is just trying to be the Dom she's always wanted to be and Bellamy might just be the one to teach her the ropes, pun intended.





	touch me, i'm going to scream

**Author's Note:**

> BFF Prompt: Clarke thought her whole life she was a top. It clashes with Finn's attempts to control her. Lexa reluctantly subs for a while before she calls it quits too. It's not until Clarke meets Bellamy in a BDSM club that she realizes she might be a bottom at heart (though only for him).
> 
> Title and lyrics come from the song Touch Me I'm Going To Scream by My Morning Jacket.

**Part I: Untied**

**   
** _Touch me, I'm going to scream if you don't  
_ _Inside I know we have the feeling that you want  
_ _I can tell by the way you're smiling, I'm smiling, too  
_ _I see myself in you  
_ _I can tell by the sounds you make when you are pleased  
_ _You see yourself in me._

* * *

It isn’t until they’re pulling into the parking lot of Pizza Place that Clarke realizes exactly what she’s about to do.

“I can’t do this,” she says suddenly, gripping her roommate’s bony forearm where it rests on the gear shift. The denim is rough under her fingernails. “What the _ fuck _am I doing?”

To his credit, Murphy hardly flinches, pulling his piece of shit ‘98 Honda into one of the back parking spots before peeling her fingers from his jacket. The gear shift sticks as he puts it in park. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his pack of cigarettes, the carton looking like it had been to hell and back over the last few days— an appropriate representation of John Murphy if there’s ever been one. 

“You’re here to meet people,” Murphy says evenly, sliding two cigarettes out and holding one out to her. She glares in return and he shrugs, “Suit yourself.”

She snatches the cancer stick from between his fingers and forces herself not to slap the smile from his face. Murphy cranks his window down halfway and blows out a long puff of smoke, holding out a small red Bic. With trembling hands, she puts the cigarette between her lips and flicks the lighter once, twice, before she fumbles and loses it between her thighs. 

“Fucking relax, will you?” He smirks, reaching into her lap and flicking the lighter on with one smooth _ zip. _She takes a long drag and then coughs. Fucking Malboro. 

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Puff. “_ Why _did I let you talk me into this?” Cough. 

He’s wearing that stupid smirk again. “Because you’re tired of boring sex and I’m tired of hearing you bitch about boring sex.” 

“I don’t bitch.”

He snorts, “Oh, you do. Maybe not to me, but I hear you on the phone with Raven.” He clears his throat, his voice rising three octaves, “He didn’t know what a g-spot was! She wouldn’t let me top! He didn’t like dirty talk—”

She punches him in the arm, making sure to use the hand decorated with an assortment of rings, “First rule of living together: no spying!” 

“I’m not spying, you talk too loud.” He raises his hands in surrender as she pulls her fist back for another hit. “Look, I just thought this might be a chance for you to explore some things you haven’t been able to before.”

“How do you know I haven’t?” 

“You do remember I’ve known you since we were, like, seven. Jaha probably thought anything other than missionary was adventurous, Finn couldn’t give a girl an orgasm if his life depended on it, and Lexa was a bitch.” 

She slugs him again. 

“Whatever, she was and you know it. Anyways, I might be guessing here but I don’t imagine you’re having that much luck with this string of one night stands from Tinder.” 

She winces at his brief, yet accurate rundown of her dating history. Okay, so maybe her exes weren’t exactly adventurous and yeah, sure, Tinder isn’t the place to go when looking for someone to explore the kinkier side of sex with. Of the few dates she’s been on, only two of them weren’t completely disgusting and the sex was about as mediocre as the dinner they bought.

“I have absolutely zero interest in knowing what your particular kinks are, Griffin, but the least I can do is introduce you to some people that might.”

Of all the people she expected would ever _ get _ her, she never thought it would be John Murphy. They were acquaintances through most of high school and college, friends because of friends. Living together happened accidentally, a mix up with their friend Jasper that he still thinks is hilarious three years later. She’s come to terms with him and his unique personality attributes just as he’s adjusted to having her in his space. But damn it, _ this _ is what her life has come to? Murphy is her best friend and, apparently, her fetish guidance counselor. Unbelievable. 

She sighs, finishing off the last of her cigarette and opens the door, the rusted hinge letting out an ungodly squeak. She tosses the butt on the ground and crushes it under her boot, “I was expecting some underground dungeon with passwords and leather-clad bodyguards.” She leans down and picks up the extinguished cigarette and sits it in the ashtray on top of the sticky pile of change already residing there.

“You work your way up to those,” He jokes, flicking his own at the window without a second glance, “Actually, that’s just piss poor media portrayal of this lifestyle. Don’t get me wrong, wild sex dungeons exist, but most of us prefer things like this.” He gestures vaguely at the restaurant.

“And this is a…”

“Munch,” he finishes for her. 

“Munch,” she repeats with a laugh, “Is that sexual innuendo on purpose or what?”

“Probably.” 

“Am I dressed okay?” She asks, fiddling with one of the snaps on her old leather jacket. He had told her to keep it casual, so she threw on her favorite jeans, a t-shirt, and one of two jackets she owns. Style has never been her fore and she stopped trying to impress people a long time ago. 

“Yeah, it isn’t _ that _kind of event. Save your fishnets and latex for the play parties.” 

“Play parties?” 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Fuck,” she rubs at her temple, “I have so much to learn.”

“In time, grasshopper,” he pats her knee, “Let’s go.”

The place isn’t all that busy, a few families sitting near the front, a table full of teenagers throwing pepperonis at each other. She follows Murphy towards the back, shoving her hands in her pockets just to give them something to do. She’s a bit unsteady on her feet, her anxiety spiking at the prospect of meeting new people. Her therapist says it’s a product of being paraded around by her mother as a kid from pageant to pageant, charity event to charity event, but she thinks it’s more to do with feeling out of control.

That’s what it comes down to for her, in the end: control. An inherent, overwhelming need to have it. The crippling anxiety, lack of worth that comes when she doesn’t. It’s the reason she spent her teenage years doing court-ordered community service, the reason none of her relationships ever seem to last. The reason she hasn’t spoken to her mother in almost four years. And why she’s been in outpatient for over a year now. When she loses control, she loses herself. 

She snaps out of it, digging her fingernails into her palm. Now isn’t the time for a pity spiral. 

A chorus of voices yell for Murphy, an almost out of body experience because, holy shit, Murphy has _ friends, _or, at the very least, people who sound happy to see him. It’s not a large group by any means, maybe ten people all squeezed around one long table covered in pitchers and pizza pans. Her eye catches the Hawaiian Pizza on the end and her stomach grumbles.

Murphy greets them all with a two finger salute before putting his arm around her, because apparently, he has a death wish. “Everyone, this is Clarke. Better known as the reason we’re late.”

“Fuck you, Murphy,” she slaps his hand away from where he’s started pinching her cheek, “We’re late because you had to do your hair.”

“Fair enough, but it looks good, right?” They find seats at the end of the table and Murphy goes immediately for the pitcher of beer. 

“Guess we’ll introduce ourselves,” the woman next to her says, flipping Murphy the bird. Clarke likes her immediately. “I’m Anya.” 

From here, it’s a rapid fire of names and partner and roles, and by the time they’re finished, her head is spinning. However, she feels slightly less ready to crawl out of her own skin, which is quite an accomplishment for her. Absently, she bites at the skin on her thumb, leading Murphy to reach across the table and slap her hand. 

“Fuck off.”

Murphy pours her a beer with his signature grin, because of course the asshole loves to see her uncomfortable. She takes a long drink, hoping the alcohol will numb the still-rising anxiety she’s feeling. 

“We’re happy we finally get to meet Murphy’s dom,” the larger man, Lincoln, she remembers, says clapping his hand on Murphy’s shoulder. 

She chokes on her beer, her nostrils stinging as some of it regurgitates up her nose. Anya, pats her gently on the back, her extensively black lined eyes narrowing in concern. Her brain is short-circuiting, she thinks, because there is no way they think she’s Murphy’s _ dom. _

“No!” she squeaks before clearing her throat. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh no. No. No, no, no, no.” She laughs uncomfortably and glances around the table with wide eyes, “No. No, no, no, no. No. No.” 

“Really, Griffin?” Murphy finally says, leaning back in his chair with a grin, “Fourteen no’s?” 

“I’m not...we’re not...he’s not…” she tries to stutter out, her finger pointing aimlessly between the two of them.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he huffs, “Clarke isn’t my dom. She’s my roommate and she’s here because she’s tired of boring sex.”

She manages to clear her head enough to kick his shin under the table. 

“Ow, shit!” he glares back at her, “What? You are.” The table laughs, “You’re welcome.”

“I know the feeling, Clarke,” the young blonde girl, Harper, she thinks, calls from a few seats down, “We all start somewhere.” 

Harper launches into the story of how she and her husband, Monty, discovered their affinity for discipline play, and Clarke settles in and listens. To her surprise, the more she listens to Harper, and everyone else, talk about their own _ journey of self-discovery _, Anya called it, the more she starts to relax. The weight in her chest grows lighter when Niylah explains her first time as a top and how it was a total disaster, and then disappears altogether when Lincoln tells her, proudly and openly, exactly how he came to enjoy the DDLG dynamics and the benefits it’s had for his mental health. 

She chats with Miller and Jackson, and they hit it off. They bond quickly over their shared love for Overwatch, and three beers later, Jackson is giving her tips on basic rope ties using the thread bracelets he’d worn on his wrist. She practices a few times and fails, throwing down on the table in frustration after the loop falls through _ again. _

“It just takes practice,” Miller tells her, “Every rope is different and every partner is different. Just play around with it at home.” 

Murphy is telling Anya about the actual dom he’s seeing, saying he’s hoping to bring her to the next play party if things continue to go well. 

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” Clarke says. 

“I’m not, really. We’re just having fun.”

“Why don’t you ever bring her to our place?” 

Murphy laughs at that, “Oh? You want to hear her tell me what a good boy I am?” 

“Jesus Christ,” she groans, standing from the table, “I need a drink to erase _ that _from my memory for the rest of eternity.” She pauses and corrects herself quickly, “And that’s not to kink shame, it’s just...Murphy.” 

She takes their laughter as a good sign and heads towards the bar. The nerves have almost completely disappeared, replaced by a level of comfort and belonging she hadn’t felt in a long time. She’s been here an hour and already these people have pulled her out of a cocoon she’s lived in for years. She hadn’t really known what to expect; Murphy told her munch’s were essentially the same as asking any group of friends to hang out, just with the knowledge that if you have a kink question, you can ask without being judged. She hadn’t realized that she needed something like this until now.

She doesn’t know much about her interests aside from the porn she likes to watch on occasion and the strong pull she feels towards the dominant side. She’s never really had the chance to explore, Lexa being the only person who really let her try. And by _ try _, Lexa would let her top and smack her ass on occasion, but would usually end up back in control by the time they finished. 

She really doesn’t know how to do the things she wants to do or even how to approach them with someone else, but Murphy might just be onto something. As much as she hates to admit it, he was right to bring her here. She has so many questions and the group seems more than willing to answer them, so why not give it a shot? She’s twenty-three, it’s about time she starts exploring new things. Her therapist will be so proud of her. 

“Jack and coke, please,” she tells the bartender. Liquor always loosens her lips a bit, so maybe with a bit of whiskey in her, she’ll be brave enough to ask the questions she wants to ask. 

When she returns to the table, she sits at the opposite end from Murphy— sure, they’ve now crossed an invisible line that can _ never _be uncrossed but the less he knows the better. 

The whiskey does work it’s magic, and she finds herself not only listening, but engaging. She learns the difference between single column and double column ties from Niylah, the benefits of toys versus no toys in the bedroom— Atom enjoys props while Gabriel prefers to keep it simple, and Harper, bless her, leans over to explain terms Clarke doesn’t quite understand when they’re mentioned. 

Their debate about the accuracy of porn is sadly cut short, Clarke had been dying to know if what she had been watching was helpful or hurtful, when Anya stands and enthusiastically waves someone over. 

“Bellamy!” 

She jumps when a bag thuds obnoxiously at her feet and she turns to glare at _ Bellamy _but freezes as soon as she lays eyes on him. 

She can’t remember the last time she felt an instant attraction to someone. She doesn’t really have a type, and to be honest, her attention is often hard to keep. She’s fairly self-aware that she’s hard to please, which is why her dating history is ass, as Murphy so kindly pointed out. But Bellamy, with his wild hair, his sharp jaw, his full lips— well, _ fuck. _

“Sorry I’m late, I lost track of time grading.” He says, and damn it, even his voice is hot. Deep and gravely and—

“You’re new.” He turns his attention to her. He starts rolling the sleeves of his pale blue button up, which is absolutely not fair. 

“Uh, yeah,” is all she manages. Niylah must sense her sudden distress and lays a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“This is Clarke. Murphy brought her.” She explains. 

“I’m Bellamy,” he introduced with a half-smile and starts pouring himself a beer. “I didn’t think we’d ever meet Murphy’s dom.” 

She groans loudly, slapping her hand to her forehead, “I really wish people would stop saying that.”

“What?” Bellamy asks, “That you’re a dom? Sorry, I just assumed since Murphy has always calls himself a brat…”

“Ugh!” She waves her hands excitedly in front of her. She can feel the familiar rash beginning to spot her neck and travel up to her cheeks. “No, I am a dom. Or I want to be, I’m just, Murphy isn’t…” she takes a deep breath and finally locks eyes with him, “Murphy isn’t with me. We’re roommates.” 

Like he’s fucking Beetlejuice, Murphy appears behind Bellamy, leaning over his shoulder with a mischievous grin. He wraps his arms around Bellamy’s shoulder, earning him a look that Clarke is _ very _familiar with giving.

“Clarkey, here, is looking for someone to boss around that _ actually _listens to her. And from what I know, she also wants someone to let her—“

“Unless your dom enjoys licking pus infected sores, I would stop talking,” she tells him, face burning. And here she thought she didn’t embarrass easily.

He considers it for a moment, standing and placing his hand on the back of Bellamy’s chair, “She’s mentioned blood play once or twice, so she probably wouldn’t mind it.” 

“Fuck.” She groans. She really knows far more than she ever wanted to about John Murphy’s sex life. Vomit.

Thankfully, he makes his way back to the other end of the table, leaving her in peace and semi-alone with hot-guy Bellamy. 

_ You got this, Griffin. _

“Sorry,” she picks absently at the chips in the old wooden table, “He’s…”

“Murphy?” Bellamy finishes with a laugh, “I feel like I should be apologizing to you. I can’t believe you _ live _with him.”

“Yeah, me either. Most days.”

The tension eases itself out after that, thankfully, and she slips back into idle conversation. The pitchers of beer dwindle, the pizza disappears. She talks more with Miller, who gives her some good sources for learning more, encouraging her to stay far away from ‘bullshit like Fifty Shades of Grey’. The book name is, apparently, a trigger for much of the table and soon they’re engaged in a heated debate about erotica and fanfiction. 

Her attention drifts back to Bellamy, listening intently as he talks to Harper and Atom about any and everything. Her curiosity is piqued, admittedly, he’s attractive and smart, and apparently a fucking teacher which, damn, is just appealing to her darker fantasy. She can’t quite figure out what it is about him, but she has a strong urge to learn more. 

She feels a nudge against her elbow and she snaps out of it quickly. Had she been staring? Fuck, she hopes she wasn’t staring. She shrinks into her chair. 

“He’s single, you know?” Niylah says with a knowing look.

“That’s cool.” She thinks her face may be a permanent shade of crimson by the end of the night. 

“Yeah, I think it’s been like, six months, since his last sub?”

Sub. Damn it. She glances back over at Bellamy, watching as he talks easily with Harper, gesturing wildly with his hands. He pushes one of his sleeves further up his forearm, the muscle flexing as he does, and she sighs. Of course he’d be a dom. She guarantees he’s good At it, too. His presence demands attention, Hell, she’s known him for an hour and she’s already imagined what his fingers would feel like around her wrist, if they’d overlap… 

“I didn’t think this was a dating service?” She says, turning her attention back to the petite blonde. 

“It’s not. But we’re all friends and we explore things and sometimes things happen.” She nods at the other end of the table where Anya is laughing into Nyko’s shoulder, “They met in a group like this. And Harper brings her husband when he doesn’t have to work. There’s another couple, as well, but they’re on vacation.” 

“I’m not really looking for anything serious,” she says, and it’s almost true. She sucks in relationships and she’s still dealing with the baggage that comes with her past. 

“This isn’t the place you’re going to find conventional, Clarke. We’re a BDSM group, a lot of us are queer and poly and just...this isn’t another place that’s going to enforce your heteronormative dating rules.” 

That makes her smile. “Good to know.” 

“And just so you know, Bellamy is a switch.” Niylah winks with a grin before standing and heading towards the bar. When she turns in her seat, she realizes that her end of the table is almost empty, save her and Bellamy in the seat next to her. 

Smooth. 

“So,” He starts, tapping his fingers against his half empty glass. “What do you think so far? Of your first munch, I mean.”

“It’s pretty cool. I mean, aside from the fact that I am now painfully aware of Murphy’s sexual preferences.”

Bellamy laughs. She likes it when he laughs. “Yeah, well, you can just do what I do and ignore him. Just enforce the ‘your kink is not my kink and that’s okay’ rule with him.”

“Noted.” 

He pauses, his lips pursed like he’s considering whether to say what he wants or not. Two whiskeys in, she’s feeling brave. 

“This is a safe space, right?” He nods. “Ask me.” 

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable, is all. Or put you on the spot. The first few meetings can be an adjustment.” 

“I spent thirty minutes practicing shibari ties with Jackson’s friendship bracelets, I think I’ll be okay. And besides, if I don’t want to answer, I don’t have to, right?” 

“Right,” He says before pausing again, his dark eyes searching hers. Something warm pools in her stomach; she chalks it up to the jack and cokes. Finally, “You said earlier that you want to be a dom and I guess I was just curious…”

Trust is a funny thing, sometimes. She’s never been great at it, having been burned enough times to learn her lesson. Letting people in is hard and talking about herself, trusting them with even the smallest details, it makes her stomach turn. Murphy once told her she was as easy to talk to as a cement block. It took her and her therapist almost two months of sessions before Clarke willingly told her something that wasn’t a surface level detail. 

And yet, this table full of strangers has made her feel safer than she has in years. It’s a strange feeling, but she’s just buzzed enough to roll with it, especially since she’s already considered that, if things go sideways, she never has to see any of these people again if she doesn’t want to. 

“I’ve always wanted to be a top. Or a dom. Whatever,” she shrugs, “I just haven’t had the best partners for it.”

“They weren’t willing to try it out?” 

She grabs an abandoned piece of crust off the pizza tray and nibbles on it. “I guess I didn’t know how to ask? At least, at first. My high school boyfriend would have come around I think, had I known it’s what I really wanted. But we had just discovered sex, you know? So everything was exciting, even the ‘boring’ stuff.”

She pauses. She’s telling him too much. He doesn’t care about her dating history. Why should he? They’re strangers! God, she’s being that person, the one that overshares. Like a middle-aged single mom who posts every small detail of her life on Facebook. She’s that. 

“What about when you figured out you needed more?” He asks, his voice quiet but full of interest. She glances up at him and he’s watching her with rapt attention, like she’s telling him the world's greatest secret. 

“I started to feel like I needed more with my college boyfriend. Finn, he was, like, your typical frat fuckboy, you know? Attractive and sweet but terribly mediocre in bed. So I would try to tell him what to do, how to, you know, touch me and stuff and when he would actually follow directions, I realized I enjoyed it. I started reading about the whole dom and sub dynamic and when I brought up to him, you know what he did?” 

Bellamy shakes his head. 

“He laughed. He said, ‘yeah, sure, boss me around, just as long as you know who’s really in charge.’”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, so you can imagine we didn’t last much longer. The more I tried to take control in the bedroom, the more he tried to take control outside of it.” 

“Sounds like a tool.”

“Definitely. Turns out he had another girlfriend one state over the entire time we were dating, so…” 

“I’m sorry, Clarke.” He reaches over and lays a hand on her arm, and suddenly, she understands what people mean when they describe chemistry as lightning in their veins.

“I got over it pretty quickly,” she shrugs. 

“It still sucks, though.” 

“Yeah, but at the very least, it taught me a lot about myself. About what I wanted in life and in love, as cheesy as that sounds.” 

He smiles. Her heart does something funny in her chest. _ Stupid heart. _ “But not in the bedroom?” 

“I’m here aren’t I?” It comes out without thinking, and she opens her mouth to apologize, but Bellamy is grinning at her, something flashing in his eye that makes her stomach turn. _ Oh shit. _ They stare at one another, something sizzling between them, something she knows he has to feel too; she _ prays _he feels it, because it’s something she hasn’t experienced in a long time, something she's been terrified of feeling again.

“So!” Murphy, because of course Murphy would, interrupts the moment, “Who’s doing the after party this time?” 

She glances at Niylah, afraid to look back at Bellamy after, well, whatever the fuck _ that _was. “After party?” 

“Yeah, usually after we eat, we go back to someone’s place and chat some more. It’s a bit easier to really dive into things in private. And, uh, you know, _ do _things.” 

Clarke coughs into her hand awkwardly, “Oh.” 

“Honestly, we usually don’t ask new people to come around at first, just because we know it can be a lot, but I’m hosting tonight and I’d love for you to come.” 

She tries to not to think about the sexual innuendo, she really does, but it’s _ right there. _She bites her lip to keep from laughing. 

“Only if you want,” Niylah adds quickly, “It’s totally cool if you want to come to a few more munches first. Don’t feel like you have to in order to be part of the group, you know?” 

She’d be lying if she said she isn’t intimidated. It is a lot. She’s new to all of this despite years of fantasy and desire and research, and suddenly she’s in a group full of people who are practically experts. Her anxiety, despite being drowned by whiskey and beer, starts swimming to the surface and she thinks about all the ways this could go wrong or embarrass her, how she isn’t ready for this. She should just go home and finish watching Orange is the New Black and call it a night. 

But she feels warmth in her stomach and for the first time she can remember, she feels safe. Accepted. Okay. 

Finally, she manages to look back at Bellamy and he's smiling at her over the rim of his glass, eyes still sparkling in the dim pizza pub lighting. 

_No more fear. _“I’d love to.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, full disclosure, this was going to be a oneshot but I'm insufferable and got carried away with the Team Cockroach friendship. Sue me.  
Also, it was very important for me to portray BDSM and someone's introduction to BDSM realistically and authentically. Munches are real and they're great for beginners. They can be different depending on where you are, so this isn't a portrayal of all munches (#NotAllMunches). 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Comments and Kudos cure my depression. So like, no pressure, or anything. 
> 
> find me on [tumblr!](https://octannibal-blake.tumblr.com)


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